


Soldier's Heart

by Soozen



Series: Little Talks [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula (Avatar)-centric, Bonding, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soozen/pseuds/Soozen
Summary: Years after the end of the war, Azula is joined by Sokka for a conversation under the full moon.
Relationships: Azula & Sokka (Avatar)
Series: Little Talks [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964512
Comments: 25
Kudos: 108





	Soldier's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. Third time uploading! I swear, this fic is cursed.
> 
> But seriously, everything should be good this time around. Thank you very much to (and I forget exactly who it was, don't hate me) who was kind enough to point out that I had uploaded an unfinished version of this the last time I posted it. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that you did that.

Just as it had gone with Aang, Azula did not need to go looking for the next opportunity to talk to Sokka or Toph. Instead, Sokka comes to her.

The inside of the house is loud, so loud, louder than Azula can stand. She’s been irritable since early afternoon, when she’d attempted to resolve things with Suki, had tried to apologize to her, but her words had fallen on deaf ears, and she’d been left alone down on the beach for so long that Ty Lee had come to find her, full of concern.

The rest of the day has passed in a whirl of voices and headaches, the house too small and the walls too thin to house so many loud personalities and loud voices, and Azula wonders why Zuko even insisted she come on this Agni-forsaken vacation that feels like anything but a way to relax. The sun has set and they are all gathered—yes, all of them, Azula included much to her ire—in the dining room with several open bottles of rice wine and an array of finger foods and everyone is _talking at the same time_.

Azula sits at the opposite end of the long table, as far away as she can from it all, ignoring the cup of wine that was placed before her. Perhaps it is only Zuko being polite, but he does not correct Katara when she served Azula the wine. She does not drink alcohol. Never has it appealed to her; dulling the senses, making one act like a fool? Never.

Ty Lee, however, is enjoying the wine, already on her second cup and just as boisterous and stupid as the rest of them; it is the only explanation for why she hasn’t noticed Azula growing pricklier, the way she winces when Sokka shouts out over the group, as if speaking louder will prove his point—whatever it may be—better.

All she wants is some damn quiet, but she knows her room will do little to dull the awful racket they are all making, and all the laughter and talking and shouting is echoing in her head, bringing it all to the most terrible crescendo—

She stands abruptly from her seat, knocking her cup over in the process, but her concern is hardly with the potential damage to the table linens or the mahogany table. The room goes quiet as she storms out, out of the dining room, out of the hall, out to the veranda where she slams the door behind her.

Out here, it is quiet, and Azula lets out a breath of relief. The only sounds are the waves crashing upon the sand, a breeze filtering through the palm trees, the calls of cicadas.

This is not her room in the palace, but it will have to suffice.

She approaches the rail of the veranda, resting her hands upon it, and breathes in deep, willing the tension in her head to dissipate, for her mood to calm.

The door slides open behind her, and Azula can just _feel_ the air around her get tighter, closing in on her, at the thought of someone daring to follow her out here.

“Azula?” It is Ty Lee, her voice high and soft, and when she touches Azula’s bare shoulder, the princess flinches away from her touch. “It’s just me, Azula. It’s just—it’s me.”

“Go away.”

It comes out harsher than she means it. Azula wants it to be a request, a plea, not an angry demand but that is exactly how it comes out. She shuts her eyes, and imagines her room, her private room filled with soothing white blossoms and silence.

“Azula…” Ty Lee tries again, but there is not stopping the angry words that come pouring out of Azula’s mouth like poison.

“If I wanted your company, I would have asked for it! Go away! I don’t want you!”

For all of Ty Lee’s many strengths, there is still one thing that she cannot handle, cannot hold through, and that is when Azula is cruel, when the darkness of her mind speaks for her and turns her anger onto Ty Lee. Azula doesn’t have to turn around to know that Ty Lee is fighting tears.

She leaves, as is to be expected. And Azula knows that, later, maybe tomorrow, maybe tonight, she will have to apologize.

When Azula’s muscles slowly start to ease and relax, she moves to the chairs that are laid out on the veranda, meant to be lounged on. And she stays there for what feels like ages, but it is hard to tell. Time moves strangely when these moods strike her. A day can pass in the span of a minute, or sometimes, it feels as if she is moving in slow motion, that the world is racing around her, and she is stuck where she is.

But she is outside long enough that she shivers from the sea breeze, wishes for another layer or a blanket or a jacket, or anything really.

There is a simple solution. She could go inside. She could go in and walk past all of them and feel the weight of their eyes on her, angry that she made Ty Lee cry, and go to her room and retire for the evening.

But that simply isn’t going to happen. Freezing to death is preferable to dealing with her disapproving brother. So, she will wait out here until the sun rises and warms the earth, rather than enter those loud and suffocating rooms again.

The door slides open once more, but it isn’t Ty Lee or Zuko, or even Aang.

It is Sokka, with a blanket draped over one arm as he carries two cups of tea. As she watches in confusion, he wordlessly hands her one cup (which she accepts only because she doesn’t know what else to do), drops the blanket over her feet, and then takes a seat in the chair beside her.

And that is all. He simply sits in his chair in silence, occasionally from his cup of tea. Once determining that this situation- quietly sharing this space with Sokka, of all people- is one that is tolerable, Azula pulls the blanket up and drapes it around her shoulders. Warm again, she begins to relax and, holding her tea, Azula turns her eyes upward to the full moon.

The moon is not something she has considered much before. The waxes and wanes of its monthly pattern are a constant, and as an island nation, every studious Fire Nation child knows how it affects the tide. But it isn’t as if the moon ever requires as much thought and praise; certainly not unlike the sun, which brings warmth and light and _fire_. Perhaps the only time she has ever taken note of it was the night it disappeared from the sky and it was as if all color was sucked out of the world. Within the very same night everything returned to normal, and after a day, hardly anyone had ever spoken of it.

She never had learned what had caused it.

“—my girlfriend.”

She looks sharply over to Sokka, only just realizing he had been talking. “What?”

His girlfriend? Oh, right. Suki. She did not want to invite him to speak of her encounter with Suki earlier that day. He’s likely to snap at her for it—and she certainly will not deserve that. She had been completely polite, hadn’t said a thing unkind to Suki. It was Suki’s fault it hadn’t gone well, not her own.

“You’ve been spending some time with my first girlfriend,” Sokka repeats himself. “I don’t blame you. She’s pretty quiet, but that makes her a damn good listener.”

He’s an idiot, Azula decides after careful consideration. Utterly and completely stupid, to think that she- Princess Azula- would fall for such an obvious lie. Apparently, such thoughts are visible on her face, illuminated by the light of the moon, for when Sokka glances at her, he starts laughing.

“You think I’m joking, don’t you?”

“I think you’re fabricating tales to entertain yourself.”

He snorts again. “That’s joking. And I’m not, not right now,” he said, and she nearly rolls her eyes.

“Then you are delusional. Before you came out here, I was completely alone.”

“Nah, Yue’s here, too.”

She is in no mood to play these games. “There’s no one here but the two of us.”

“And Yue.” He gestures upward, and she looks to where he points.

“The moon.” Her voice is dry, her tone one of utter disbelief. “The _moon_ is your ex-girlfriend, Yue.”

He nods, and she nearly bursts into mocking laughter; she would have, if her mood weren’t so sour.

“She wasn’t always the moon, you know,” Sokka says, his eyes on the celestial body illuminating the veranda. “She was the daughter of the chief of the Northern Water Tribe, and just the prettiest girl I’ve ever met—”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering what he had just said. Then, Sokka whips his head over to look at Azula so swiftly that she’s certain he might get whiplash.

“Don’t tell Suki I said that.”

Azula rolls her eyes, settling back against her chair, and resumes her own moon gazing. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity.” She sips her tea and does not even attempt to suppress her frown.

It is obvious Zuko brewed it. For all the time he’d spent with their silly, tea-loving uncle, he would have learned how to brew a proper cup of tea. She sets the unfinished cup on the small table between their chairs.

Again, Sokka nods. “Yeah, Suki kind of mentioned that you talked to her today.”

“Tried to,” she mutters bitterly.

“Yeah.” He lets out a long sigh, settling back into a more comfortable position. “Yeah, she said that. Don’t know what it’s worth, but I think it was pretty kind of you to do that.”

That’s surprising. Azula raises an eyebrow at Sokka. “You don’t share her sentiment?”

“Not entirely—don’t get me wrong, I support her decision on this, but I still think that you apologizing is a good thing. Nice thing. It was a nice thing to do. I don’t think you’d have done it a year ago—Am I right on that?”

“You might be,” she replies, though there is definite truth to that statement.

Sokka grins, mostly to himself, satisfied that he was able to mark her. “Thought so.”

“Don’t act as if you know me,” Azula responds briskly, not wanting him to think himself more important than he ought to.

He shrugs, letting her statement roll right off his shoulders in the motion. “I know you well enough.”

“Hardly.”

It’s clear that he takes this as a challenge, the way he once again faces her; and she holds his gaze, ready to see him fail because if there is one thing Azula cannot resist, it is asserting dominance in any situation.

“I know you actually enjoy it when Zuko brings you along on these trips,” he declares boldly (and worse, accurately). “I know you feel bad about snapping at Ty Lee. And…I know you’re a bit like me. With your, uh, outbursts.”

Azula goes still, staring at Sokka, unable to believe that he would decide to speak so openly about this topic, and she wants to silence him, to keep him from speaking further, but her mouth has gone dry, and her tongue is heavy in her mouth.

“I get the same way when there are…bad days,” he added, finally looking away from her, down at his hands. “When the memories roll in strong.”

Her silence holds steady in the air, encompassing everything. How can she- how to respond? How can he know all of this? And stupidly, she hopes, pleads silently to whatever spirits might be watching over her, that Sokka will shut his damn mouth and pretend he never brought the topic up.

“Katara,” he continues, because apparently quiet isn’t something he can contend with, “she told me about the, uh, the conversation you guys had—”

Fire bursts within her, and she throws out the words faster than she can think to contain them. “That was not for her to share!”

Normally, her tone would be enough to send those around her— Zuko, Mai; Ty Lee to a lesser extent— backing off, giving her ample space to calm herself down. But Sokka doesn’t even flinch. Perhaps he sees the source, recognizes it in himself. Or perhaps he is just an idiot.

“I know, she shouldn’t have.” He is apologetic. Is this a trait of the Water Tribe? So foreign within the world Azula had grown up in. “But I’m not—I guess I’m glad that she did. Finding out that you…that someone else….. That it isn’t just me.”

He heaves a sigh, and sits upright, placing his teacup on the table just as she had. It is nearly as full as hers; perhaps he’d used it primarily as a prop, or maybe he too had realized that the tea verged on undrinkable.

“I mean, I knew you weren’t all right in the head, but I thought you just…lost your mind or something. Or that you had been crazy all along.”

For the first time in months, Azula has the sudden urge to set something on fire. She clamps her lips shut tight, not trusting herself to not say something equally hurtful in return.

“But when Katara told me…. It makes sense. Everything made sense. That you’re like me. That it isn’t only me.”

But that’s not right. True, he doesn’t exactly live in the palace, and it isn’t exactly like he visits often, and then she thinks of her episodes; how they can come frequently, how they are uncontrollable and wild or dark and strong, and pull her down into terrible depths that she cannot easily pull herself out of, and not once has she seen Sokka act in any such a way. No bursts of anger, no deep blankness in his eyes. He has never seemed anything but himself.

“…. I don’t know how much I agree with that,” Azula says slowly, the anger in her dying, falling away as quickly as it had come on. “You seem to get along just fine.”

But Sokka just shakes his head. “Nah. It’s an act. I can…. I can usually tell when it’s going to be a bad day, and I know what to avoid, and if I feel it coming, I just…leave. Fake a sickness, find somewhere to ride it out.”

That’s something Azula has never experienced. “You can tell when it’s coming?”

“Yeah,” Sokka nods. “Usually. Katara is better at realizing it than me sometimes. Suki too.”

And it occurs to her that she isn’t certain if Zuko even has attempted to understand her mood swings at all.

“But I’m sure Ty Lee is the same way with you. She ran right out after you earlier,” Sokka adds.

“Sometimes,” Azula replies, her thoughts still on her brother. But her words seem to take Sokka by surprise.

“What do you mean, sometimes?”

That forces her to focus on the topic at hand, pulling her back to the present. “She has a life,” she explains. “She is always welcome to visit, but it is around her schedule.”

He’s staring at her as if she is absolutely mad- and she might be, but not for whatever reason he is thinking. “But I’ve- I’ve seen how long your, uh, episodes can last. They aren’t always short.”

Her eyes narrow on him. He’s taken note? Interesting. “…They aren’t.”

“So what, you have servants then that help you through them?”

“What are you getting at?”

“You can’t really deal with it all on your own, right? Not with how long and intense they are.”

She doesn’t answer him, can only stare at him, stare him down, that he suggest she just _bring_ in an outsider, a servant, someone not of her inner circle to see her at her worst, to be there to _comfort_ and calm her. The idea is revolting. There is a reason her room is private, that only Ty Lee can be there, and only _one_ servant can bring tea, but only when requested, never presumptuously.

It’s not the days that it are full of an anger that overwhelms her that is cause for concern of being seen by outsiders. Anger is fire, it is power, it is strength. Those volatile days, sometimes she wishes the world would see her and remember her strength and remember the fear she cast into them. But then the anger fades, and she remembers that they are not at war, that she has no enemies, that those around her do not need to cower in fear around her. That life is gone.

No, it’s the days she is sucked down, the days she can’t control the flow of her tears or find the strength to get out of bed, cannot focus on the world around her and feels as if she is walking through a fog that she needs to hide away. Those days she is but a reflection of all things weak, and those days no one in the world may see her.

No one except Ty Lee, on those rare occasions she happens to be visiting. When Ty Lee is there, the episodes are shorter, softer.

Of course Azula has noticed this, and of course she has considered keeping Ty Lee close at all times. She could ask her to, to take residence in the palace. She could try to convince her to quit her job and stay at her side. But she had done that once before, and that ended with a vicious betrayal. Never again would she put Ty Lee in such a position.

“Tui and La, how can you handle that alone?”

Sokka’s voice once again cuts through her mind, accurately assuming the truth in what she did not say, and once again, she retrains her focus on him. “The alternative is worse.”

He lets out a low exhale, shaking his head, but his eyes are far off, not taking her in. “I…. I can’t imagine. If I didn’t have Suki or my sister there….” The grimace he wears tells it all.

“….And if you aren’t with them?”

But Sokka only shakes his head. “For the bad ones? Doesn’t happen.”

“It’s not as bad as you make it sound.”

A short, forced laugh comes from him. “We must not experience the same things then.”

And then he pauses, before posing a question to her. The normally smooth tonality of his voice is now broken up by a slight shake, and Azula has the sense that what he is saying, he may not have admitted to another person before.

“Do you…. Do you ever relive the worst of it? Like—I don’t know what you would, Katara said you don’t remember the comet—”

Were it a few years earlier, Azula might have killed Katara for that breach of confidentiality. Instead, she resolves to never tell her a single private thing again.

“—But there’s got to be something, right? Something that you are forced to—to….”

He trails off, his eyes on her, and she holds his gaze carefully for a moment before nodding once. It isn’t as if she relives, as he has stated, more that there are echoes, echoes of what her father said, what her mother said, an echo what she felt at the time. Some days, she is suddenly overcome with the weight of not living up to the expectations placed upon her, of her father’s demands to perform better, always better.

And that might be close to what Sokka is speaking of.

But now, he’s shaking his head, staring her way but not taking her in; there is a distant look in his eyes and Azula wonders if what she is seeing in him now is what Ty Lee sees when she finds her sometimes.

“I couldn’t…. There are times I’m—I’m on the airship again, running and holding onto Toph because she- she’s blind, she can’t tell what’s happening around us, and it’s up to me to get us out of there…. And then she’s dangling, I’m the only thing keeping her from plummeting to her death….”

Sokka fades off, and Azula says nothing, doesn’t know what to say. She knows nothing of what the others have experienced that she did not personally witness. But she also knows that well-meaning words would be worthless. They would do little to comfort him, because no one else can feel the hell inside one’s own head, and that is where Sokka is now.

“She almost died. Toph was only twelve, and she almost died. She was twelve, and Suki was fifteen, I was fifteen….” He looks up at her, somewhat back to this time, this reality. “And you were what? Fifteen too?”

“Fourteen,” she corrects him.

“Fuck.” He rubs his eyes, letting his palm drag down over his cheek. “We were all just _kids_. What the hell were we doing fighting a war?”

“I think we have my father to thank for that, no matter what way you look at it.”

He nods, the movement sluggish, and she cannot be certain if it is the late hour or the memories that are slowing Sokka down. “Yeah, your dad. Your _fucking_ dad. He—You know he did that to Zuko, right? Put that scar on his face?”

“I know,” Azula responds and somehow resists the temptation to point out just how stupid of a question that is. “I saw it happen.”

“ _Fuck_. How old were you? How old was he? He…. He didn’t say, just that he’d been younger. _Obviously_.”

“He was thirteen. I was eleven.”

There is a string of curses at that. “What does that do to a kid? How is Zuko not fucked up like you?”

Anger flares up in her, at the carelessness in his tone, in his question, but she cannot speak. Her response is lodged in her throat, refusing to come free. So the words remain caught inside, the truth that Zuko’s banishment was a blessing that removed him from their father, that he was the only one who could have gotten away, that Ozai never would have pushed Zuko the same way he pushed her.

“…I shouldn’t have asked that.” Sokka is shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…. It just came out.”

“It’s fine,” Azula says softly. It isn’t fine. He should not have asked that. But she needs them to talk about something else, anything else, to keep her from dwelling on any moment she’d shared with her father and the unfairness that Zuko got out with only a scar while she struggles to behave like a normal person. And she tries and thinks back to what had led them to this topic, for any other thing to talk about.

Because, strangely enough, she doesn’t want the conversation to end. This is the most relaxed talk she has had with anyone other than Ty Lee in ages. Despite the clumsiness of her buttons being pressed and the missteps they both have had, there is an ease to this conversation, the way it has flowed. 

Maybe it is because he came to her open and willing to talk about anything. No agenda. No anger, no resentment. Just a blanket and the worst tea in hand, ready to share this night with her, despite knowing she had been volatile enough earlier to make Ty Lee cry.

And it occurs to her that Sokka had come out _because_ he had known that.

He- unlike the rest of Zuko’s friends- is not a complete idiot (despite whatever she might think); he’s smart, much smarter than he lets on. And he would have put the pieces together, between what he’d seen, what Katara had told him, what Ty Lee would surely have said, and had opted to join her. He’d known he’d find her in a less than easy to handle state, knew first-hand what she might be going through, and decided to not let her go through it alone. Because a sense of comradery? Kindness? A strange sort of stupidity that he might be able to calm her?

Perhaps a combination of all.

Azula clears her throat. “You…. You never finished telling me about Yue.”

“Huh?”

“Yue. The moon. Or the girl who wasn’t always a moon. You were telling me about her. I’d like to hear the rest, if you don’t mind.”

Sokka maintains a look of absolute befuddlement until he finally clicks the gears in his head in place and perks up. “Right! What had I told you? She was the daughter of the chief….”

And as Sokka continues talking, Azula reclines in her chair. Somehow, she knows: any animosity, any tension that was once between them, it is long gone, along with the darkness that had been clinging to her from earlier than day.

The tale Sokka weaves is one that sounds like a fantasy story, one she imagines a doting mother might tell a beloved son when tucking him into bed at night. Even more interesting is just how well Sokka tells it. She’s heard Zuko recall plenty of events, and while he manages to get the point across (most of the time, at least), it is never quite cohesive or told in a way that draws her in.

Sokka gives not only the facts, but paints a picture of the north pole, of the spirit oasis and the fish, of Yue’s death. And it is strange, how she finds herself _moved_ by it; of course, she doesn’t show it, gives no indication that she finds his tale devastatingly sad and romantic in a way she only ever thought made up stories could be.

“That was the night the sky went grey, wasn’t it?” Azula asks, after Sokka is done and they have sat in silence for what she feels must be a respectable amount of time.

“Hm?” Sokka has been staring up at the moon, tearing his eyes away to look at her.

“Shortly before I was sent to retrieve Zuko, the sky had gone grey one night. The moon disappeared. It must have been that night.”

“Yeah.” And once again, Sokka turned his gaze back to the moon. “I didn’t realize it would have been like that everywhere. But it…. It makes sense.”

When quiet falls between them once more, it is once again Azula who breaks it.

“At the palace, I have a room,” she says. “A sitting room, I guess. But it’s mine. No one is allowed in there but me. It’s quiet and calm, and it’s for those…bad days.”

He makes a non-committal sort of noise, one to indicate that he heard her at the very least.

Azula takes in a deep breath. “You can use it. If you ever need to, that is.”

That makes him look at her, but he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he’s too stunned at her sudden display of generosity.

“There will be no one to disturb you there.”

“…I might make a mess.”

That was hardly the response that Azula was expecting. Various strange images passed through her mind. “What?”

“I might make a mess,” Sokka says again, which is completely unhelpful. “Wood shavings…and stuff.”

He catches the absolutely confused expression on her face and reaches into his pocket. Whatever object he removes, he then offers to her. Azula snakes a hand out from under the blanket to take whatever it is and inspect it.

It is a small piece of wood, small enough to fit in her palm, rounded out on one side, and rough cuttings in the other.

“It’s not anything yet, but it will be a polar bear dog when I’m finished,” Sokka explained. “When it’s not too bad, I carve. I’m not—I’m not that great at it, but it’s a distraction.”

It’s an interesting idea. Until now, Azula hasn’t considered trying to do something with her hands. The most she ever has attempted was breathing exercises, and once she attempted basic firebending forms, but that only brought flashbacks of training under the watchful eyes of her father.

“And it works?” she asked without looking over at him.

“Usually, yeah. Why, are you looking to pick up the hobby?”

Azula opted not to answer that question. It was undignified, for a woman of her stature, to carve away at wood, to do anything at all that might cause her hands to roughen with callouses. Her father would absolutely despise the thought of her chipping away at a block of wood.

“…I could teach you. How to carve little totems, I mean.”

That causes Azula to flick her eyes over to him, studying his expression, searching for the sign that he was lying, that he this was a trick of sorts.

There was none.

She placed the wood carving back in Sokka’s hand. “No,” she said, sitting upright and swinging her feet around off the chair and onto the wooden deck. “No, I think that would be a terrible idea. For one, there isn’t sufficient lighting.”

He stares at her with such a large amount of confusion that Azula nearly changes her mind on the level of intelligence he carries. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean now—”

Azula stands, and he stops talking, staring up at her. “I’m going to bed,” she announces. “But in the morning…. You may demonstrate what you know.”

He nods, and she turns, walking to the door, holding the blanket around her shoulders. With her fingers on the handle, she looks over her shoulder at Sokka, still sitting, still watching her.

“Oh, and Sokka?” She takes a breath, swallowing her pride. “Thank you. For the conversation and the distraction. And…. I meant what I said about my room at the palace.”

Once again, Sokka nods, and manages to utter a thanks in return just before Azula disappears into the house, ready to hide away in the almost comfort of her bedroom.


End file.
